She.

The flower oozed a sickly sweet perfume as its leaves crumpled and then withered.
She developed a liking for post-it-notes on which she wrote little bits of nothing and everything.
She liked to pass time watching glitter fall outside of her window from her open hand, watching it drift and sparkle as it caught rays of light.
She listened to a song about a little lion man and tried to make harmonies to it. It was a rare occasion that she let anyone hear her sing, even her close family.
But secretly she thought she was an ok singer.
She collected the notes and scraps of paper which she scrawled her ideas, words, and lyrics on as sometimes inspiration struck in the middle of the night. She kept all these words, her thoughts, in an envelope tacked to her wall so she would remember.
She read books that she loved, but also frustrated her with their happily ever afters which seemed to rarely occur in real life.
She listened to music which she could sing along to, and mostly didn't like a song until she knew it well enough to follow.
She liked quotes and poems which meant something to her, she liked it when they related to her own feelings.
She wrote poems as well.
About her feelings, experiences, things that she wished would or wouldn't happen.
She liked drawing, but often thought she wasn't good at it, even after admiring some of her own work.
She kept many notebooks with her poems and other poetry, thoughts, feelings and experiences.
Like with her post-it-notes, these things came to her just as she was about to sleep, so she would often drag her subconsciousness from beneath its curtain of darkness to jot things down.

Alone.

I want to mirror your image to its fullest perfection,
never be blind or too old
to uphold your weighty wavering reflection.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere I wish to stay crooked, bent;
for there I would be dishonest, untrue.
I want my conscience to be
true before you;
want to describe ,myself like a picture I observed
for a long time, one close up,
like a new word I learned and embraced,
Excerpt from "I Am Much To Alone In This World, Yet Not Alone" - Rainer Maria Rilke.

The Fight.

With every fight,
She feels herself
losing control.
Each fight a step closer
to unleashing the words
that she knows
are aching to get out.
She feels them,
speaks them in her head,
tastes them on her lips,
breathes them.
But they are not spoken,
they are never spoken.
As they wriggle and squirm,
trying to sneak past,
she presses her lips together.
Fighting the battle,
that endlessly rages on,
inside her.

Injustice.

Suicide, guns and death,
Gas chambers, bombs and threats.
Gruesome murders that happen each day,
Hordes of people gather and pray.
For a world that's better than ours,
While they wonder why it happens.

Embracing the Storm.

The wind howls through the empty hallways,
A lone wolf as it pours into the house.
They cower in fear, hiding in corners,
Covering their ears.
I stand alone, in the rain.
Embracing the Storm.

After Life.

It perplexes me to think about after life.

What will happen, what won't happen.

Nothing is certain.

In fact it seems,

That I am surrounded,

By uncertainty.

If I could be any animal...

I would be a bird.

Soaring effortlessly over the land.

Flying into the sunsets.



I would probably be an eagle.

Living my life with no fear

At the the top of the food chain.



I would fear nothing.

I choose which animal lives or dies

Each creature is a potential meal.



I would be powerful.

Flying for days on end

Never tiring of moving.



I would see everything.

My powerful eyesight

Seeks out minute movement.



If I could be any animal . . . I would be a bird.

Home.

One time he couldn't pay the rent.

That night he stopped us on the street

and pointed to the concrete.

He said, "pick a spot."

- (Quote from The Freedom Writers) -

I stood.

And so I stood with the water
cascading down my shoulders like rain.
As I combed the tangles out of my hair
and watched the water drip of my fingertips
...
Sometimes I'm not sure whether I should continue with this...

If I could...

I'd like to make myself believe

That planet Earth turns slowly

It's hard to say that I'd rather stay

Awake when I'm asleep

'Cause everything is never as it seems

-(From Owl City's Fireflies)-

If I were the Ocean I would...

Slip into little cracks, let the wind take my spray far away,
evaporate and turn myself into delicate raindrops,
soak through the parched soil of a drought stricken place,
flow to the distant corners of the earth,
become a slow moving glacier,
travel to Antarctica and form a frozen iceberg,
pour into the ground to rejuvinate a thirsty plant,
pelt down on earth so people can dance in me,
splash around the legs of people who are afraid to swim,
suck back from the earth as I gather my power,
rise in a giant wave drowning everyone in sight,
tear loved ones away from each other never to be seen again,
take a young child away from this earth,
pull a person under as they struggle for breath,
drag soulmates away with my careless currents,
envelop a person as they throw their life away,
hold people under until they are numb with cold,
and keep them there as they can no longer think,
breathe
or survive.

Whatever though.

When I told her that i didn't miss her. I wasn't exactly telling the truth.
I didn't say that i missed having a best friend. That sense of belonging to someone...
Of always fitting in.
Thats what I miss.